


for all the stars care

by Quintessence



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Road Trips, Sharing a Bed, Sick Fic, accidental bed sharing? in a fanfiction? groundbreaking, angsty keith, for like half a chapter, foster brothers keith and shiro, frankly unnecessary references to modernist literature, i don't even like modernism all that much, lance is a sweet ray of sunshine, my small angry boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2018-12-07 09:39:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11620923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quintessence/pseuds/Quintessence
Summary: Leave it to Keith Kogane to end up on a cross-country road trip with a supremely annoying classmateon accident.Or, a story of how things fall apart, and then fall back together again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, y'all! So I was initially going to write this whole thing and post it in one go, but I'm finding myself running out of writing steam. I figured posting half of it and receiving the encouragement fandom inevitably provides would motivate me to finish.
> 
> The title comes from a W.H. Auden poem that appears in this chapter and will become significantly more important in the second half.
> 
> It's worth mentioning these two other fanworks that have inspired/helped me write this fic.
> 
>  
> 
> [ this excellent fanart gave me the idea in the first place ](http://gnarlled.tumblr.com/post/160672851672/the-post-voltron-roadtrip-au-ill-never-fully)
> 
>  
> 
> [and this adorable fanmix inspired Lance's road trip playlist](https://8tracks.com/melancoliaii/shiro-loves-you-baby)
> 
>  
> 
> The Voltron fandom is full of so many unbelievably talented content creators, and I want to thank you all for bringing me hours of enjoyment during an otherwise rough time! I hope posting a fic of my own is a way of paying that forward!

**Maine**

Keith steps into the warm, brightly lit interior of his residence hall, a welcome reprieve from the bitter December cold, but he’s in no mood to enjoy it.  Brushing stray snowflakes out of his bangs, he takes a bracing sip of his cheap, bitter, Student Union coffee.  It’s the end of the fall term and finals are upon him.  He’s got three papers due over the next two days.  It’s going to be a long night.

He climbs the two flights of stairs to his floor, contemplating his to-do list for the evening.  Four pages of his paper on Postmodern religious allegories in modern film.  Five of his comparative analysis of _Emma_ and _Jane Eyre_ as bildungsroman.  It’ll take a few hours at least.  He’ll gather his materials from his room, finish his tepid coffee, and spend the rest of the night holed up in the library.

Keith reaches his floor and hears a familiar voice carrying from down the hall.

“Yeah, mom.  Of course I’ll drive safe.  Yeah.  Okay.  Love you too. Good night!”

It’s Lance McClain, his next-door neighbor.  Something about that guy rubs Keith the wrong way.   Maybe it’s Lance’s frequent and loud phone conversations. Maybe it’s that Keith’s hunched shoulders and perpetual scowl, while generally effective deterrents to unwanted social interactions, appear to have no effect on Lance. He unfailingly greets Keith with a warm smile whenever they cross paths.  Maybe it’s Lance’s propensity for off-key singing in the shower when Keith just wants to take a piss in peace.  Regardless of the reason, he’s an annoyance.

“Hi, Keith!”

Lance smiles brightly, clearly hoping for a chat.  Great.

“Hi,” Keith mumbles, eyes trained on the ground.

“Finals treating you okay?”

Keith fishes in his pocket for his key.

“Yeah, fine.”

“Looking forward to going home?”

How Keith should’ve responded would have been with a noncommittal shrug, a nod, a quick “Yeah” before disappearing into his room. But maybe the fatigue of finals is wearing on him, because, without thinking, how he actually responds is

“I’m not going home.”

Lance looks at Keith like Keith just punted a kitten down the hall.  That level of shock and dismay.

“Why not?  You’ve gotta spend the holidays with your family!”

Keith panics for a moment.  What’s he supposed to say?  Bitterly snap that not everyone has a family to spend the holidays with?  Lie and say he’s spending the holidays with a friend?  Pretend he’s an international student who’s staying with a host family?

“I don’t have a way to get home.”  It’s not technically a lie.  He’s not planning on leaving campus, so he hasn’t arranged any transportation. “A plane ticket’s too expensive and I don’t have a ride so…”

He trails off and shrugs, hoping that’ll end the conversation.  He unlocks his door swiftly and is all but inside when Lance responds.

“Where do you live?”

“Nevada.”

It’s his standard response when anyone asks where he’s from, mostly because it’s where he’s lived the longest and where he met his foster brother, Shiro.  It’s also particularly convenient for this lie, because it’s far from their snowy, Maine college town.  It’s totally reasonable for him not to be able to make the forty-five hour drive.  Lance will sigh understandingly, wish Keith luck on his finals and a good break, and leave him alone.

“No kidding!” Lance says, suddenly excited.  “Keith, not to brag or anything, but I am the answer to your prayers.”

Keith hums absently, not liking where this is headed.

“I live in SoCal and I’m driving home on Sunday!  I can totally drop you off on my way!”

“No, that’s really okay.” Keith says hurriedly.   _Nice going, Kogane.  You dug yourself right into that hole, didn’t you?_  “I wouldn’t want you to go out of your way.”

“Seriously, man, you’d be doing me a favor!  My mom’s not super thrilled about me driving for three days straight on my own, so having you with me would be awesome.  We can do it in shifts.  It’ll be great!”

Keith’s tired.  It’s been the longest day of a long week.  He’s got pages to write tonight.  His head aches and he needs more caffeine.  He’s just not in the mood to deal with this conversation.

He figures he has a few ways out of it.  One - the truth.  He doesn’t have a home to go to, he’s not interested in Lance’s pity, and he just wants to get to the library to finish these papers.   He wants to avoid that one if possible.  In Keith’s opinion, the fewer people who know about his tumultuous childhood, the better.  Two - be rude.  Tell Lance that they hardly know each other and he’s not interested in taking a cross-country road trip with him.  That option’s got a certain appeal, but Lance is offering him a huge favor here.  Keith’s not normally concerned with social niceties, but shooting Lance down would be cold, even for him.  Three - come up with a good lie.  This option is preferable, but it requires some quick thinking, and Keith’s sleep-deprived, over-worked brain is simply not up to the task.  Four - agree to take the road trip, and make solving this problem a matter for Future Keith.

“Okay, yeah, let’s carpool,” he concedes.  Option four it is, then.  He knows he’ll regret this.  He’ll have to pay the piper eventually.  But he’ll worry about that another night.  After his papers are turned in.

Lance flashes him a blindingly bright smile, gives Keith his phone number, and arranges where they’ll meet on Sunday morning.  Keith is already planning how he’s going to work around this one.  He’s not sure why, but it feels very important that Lance doesn’t find out what Keith’s actual story is.   That he’s never known a real home.  That he doesn’t belong anywhere, or to anyone.

He’ll have to talk to Shiro, but if Keith can stay with him over break, he’ll be able to pull this off.  And he hasn’t seen Shiro in a while.  It’ll be nice to spend some time with him.

He finally escapes into his room and sends a text.

**Keith**

hey, i need a favor

**Shiro**

Oh, I’m fine!  Thanks for asking, Keith!  How are you doing?

**Keith**

ha ha.

seriously, i need a favor and it’s time sensitive

look it’s sorta complicated to explain but i gotta crash at your place for winter break.  is that cool?

**Shiro**

Um…

**Keith**

seriously, shiro, pls

**Shiro**

You’re welcome to stay at my place, but I’m leaving the country on Monday.  I’m spending the holidays in England with Allura.  Meeting her parents and all.  But the place is yours.  Saves me from getting a cat sitter for Charlie!

**Keith**

you’re the best, man.  i really owe you one.

glad it’s working out w allura, btw :)

**Shiro**

No problem, bro!  And thanks :)

* * *

 

The remainder of finals passes in a blur of books, coffee, and little sleep, but Keith makes it through.  Even cranks out a few papers he can be proud of.  Before he knows it, it’s Sunday morning, and he’s got three days in a car with a near-stranger to look forward to.  It’s a quarter to six in the morning and still dark when Keith leaves his building, duffle bag and backpack slung over his shoulders.  He shoves his hands into the pockets of his coat and ducks his head, trying to conserve his heat.  The snow crunches satisfyingly beneath his boots as he trudges across campus to the North-East parking lot, where Lance said he’d be waiting.  As he walks, Keith rehearses his plan.  Pretend he’s spending Christmas with his brother in Nevada.  Get there the day after Shiro leaves and slip into his apartment with Lance none the wiser.  Spend the holidays with Shiro’s grouchy cat.  Catch Lance on the way back to Maine at the end of break.  Return to school appearing like a normal person with a normal family.  As plans go, it’s not bad.  Not a lot of room for error.

When Keith reaches the parking lot, there’s an old, beige car idling by the curb.  It’s well maintained, but can’t be fewer than fifteen years old.  Lance honks the horn and waves.  Keith gives a half-hearted wave in return before opening the passenger side door.  Immediately, he’s enveloped by warmth and the smell of coffee.

“Hey, dude!” Lance says, smiling and holding a steaming cup out to Keith.  “I got here a little early to get the heat going and stopped for some coffee on the way.  There’s cream and sugar in the cup holder if you like that.”

Keith is slightly taken aback.  Firstly, by the thoughtfulness of the gesture, and secondly, by anyone managing to be this bubbly this early in the morning.

“Thanks,” he says, taking the cup with both hands to warm them.  “You really didn’t have to do that.”

“Ain’t no thing,” Lance says, sounding genuinely off-hand.  “Figured I’d get our road trip off to the right start.”

Keith doesn’t really know what to say, so he pours two small cups of cream into his coffee.  He usually drinks his coffee black, but he wants something to do with his hands.

“And speaking of the greatest road trip of all time, which this is totally going to be, I’ve got a whole cassette of road trip jams to listen to!  Not to brag or anything, but I’ve got great music taste.”

Lance, Keith realizes half an hour into their trip, has terrible music taste.  He seems to have a particular penchant for the cheesiest old love songs.  Hall and Oates, Wham!, Buddy Holly.  Goofy stuff.  And worse, he seems to know all the words to every damn song on that cassette and insists on singing along.  Lance’s enthusiasm for singing is only rivaled by his complete lack of skill at it.  He’s awful.  Keith should’ve remembered this from the times he’d overheard Lance in the shower.  Off-key, more shouting than singing, complete with steering wheel drumming and embarrassing dance moves.

“Where’d you get this tape from?” Keith asks as the first few notes of “Always Something There to Remind Me” play, just to prevent Lance from singing.

“My dad.  This was his car for years, and he had made all these mixtapes for it.  He handed them down to me when he gave me the car.”

“Oh.  Cool.”

Lance starts humming, but, mercifully, doesn’t sing.

“You know, my brother had me convinced this song was about herpes when I was a kid.”

Laughter escapes Keith’s mouth before he can stop it.

“What?”

“Yeah, you know, _always something there to remind me_.  He told me it was about a girl who had had given the singer herpes.  Got my older sister in on it too, so they had the double big sibling authority.  I totally believed them.”

“Oh my God.”

Lance breathes in like he’s going to start singing again.  Keith has to think quickly to cut him off.

“You’re family’s pretty close, then?”  Keith asks, regretting the question as soon as it’s out of his mouth.  He’s never enjoyed hearing about other people’s families, always too pointed a reminder of what he doesn’t have.

Lance’s eyes light up.

“Yeah, all of us are super tight.   I mean, they drive me crazy, but I love them to death.  It’s my mom, my dad, the six kids, and then my older brother has two daughters.  Plus our grandparents are always visiting.  It’s a pretty crowded house.”

“That’s nice,” Keith says with an absent smile.  That’s how you’re supposed to respond to these sorts of things, right?

“And what about you?”

_Shit._

“I’ve got a brother, Shiro.” Keith explains, which he supposes is half-true.  He and Shiro are close enough to count.  “That’s who I’m spending the holidays with.”

That last part is entirely untrue, but Keith doesn’t want Lance knowing he’s spending the holidays alone.  He’s got a feeling Lance, with his enormous family, would start fussing about it, about Keith being alone.  And Keith hates being fussed over.

“That’s cool,” Lance says, and he sounds like he means it.

Keith, never much good at small talk, has to think quickly to prevent Lance from bursting into song again.  Fortunately, he knows next to nothing about the guy, so there’s plenty to discuss.  He starts with the college standby, cliché though it is.

“So what’s your major?"

“Biology.  You?”

“English.  And don’t even think of asking me what I’m planning to do with it.”

“Wouldn't dream of it, man.  I was going to ask you your favorite class, actually.”

So Keith tells him about Modernist Poetry and how much he loved that professor and how tragic it is that history forgot Mina Loy.  And then he finds himself telling Lance about the weird kid he sat next to, the one with hair bleached platinum who dressed only in black and purple and was trying so hard to be the tortured artist type.  Lance laughs, genuinely, like he actually finds Keith worth listening to.  Keith’s never liked being the center of attention, but when it’s just Lance, listening intently and nodding in all the right places, he finds he doesn’t mind talking.

Lance, in turn, tells him about Conservation Bio, and his interest in marine science.  Keith learns that Lance grew up in a seaside town in Cuba before moving to L.A. and has loved the ocean all his life. Swam all through high school.  He makes Keith laugh so hard he chokes on his coffee telling him about the time he convinced his best friend to do one of those Polar Bear Plunge swims with him last winter.

“So he gets out of the water and he says ‘Lance, I think there’s something wrong.’ And I’m immediately panicking, and I’m like ‘What? What happened?”  And he looks me dead in the eye and says ‘I think my balls froze off.’”

Keith chooses this inopportune moment to take a large swallow of coffee, and an unexpected laugh bubbling up in his chest makes him almost spit it all over Lance’s dashboard.  He takes a deep breath and swallows purposefully, managing not to spew his coffee, and finally allows himself to laugh.

“Are you serious?”

“I’m not kidding!   He went all numb down there and genuinely thought he had frozen something off.   He wanted me to take him to the health center.  I kept trying to tell him he was fine, but he was like ‘No, man, you don’t get it, something’s not right.’”

Keith throws back his head and laughs.

Maybe Keith misjudged this guy.  He’s a little loud and obnoxious, sure, but in a funny, earnest way.  As if he’s just got so much energy inside of him that it has to come bursting out of him somehow, through singing or laughing or fidgeting or telling stories.  There’s just too much life in him, and Keith doesn’t necessarily consider that a bad thing.

**Massachusetts**

They’re outside of Boston when Lance announces he’s hungry.

“We need snacks, Keith,” he says, with the seriousness of someone discussing open heart surgery.  “You can’t have a good road trip without snacks.”

Keith sighs but agrees.  They’ll pull over at the next gas station to fill up and buy some snacks.  

Lance sings his way off the exit and into the parking lot, crooning along to “Build Me Up, Buttercup,” but Keith finds it less annoying now.  There’s something endearing about singing with incredible enthusiasm and minimal talent.

They enter the tiny convenience store, bell dinging above the door.  Lance immediately heads to the aisle with the brightest packaging and most preservative-laden food.  Keith heads in the opposite direction, browsing nuts and dried fruit.  He doesn’t exactly subscribe to the whole “my body is a temple” philosophy, but he does try to be mindful about what he eats.  Lance, Keith realizes, as he takes two plastic bags filled with processed snacks back to the car, clearly does not.

“Really, Keith?” Lance asks, inspecting Keith’s purchases once they’re back in the warm car. “You’re only going to have a lame bag of almonds and some dried apple slices?  Are you allergic to happiness?”

“At least I’m not eating Funyuns,” Keith shoots back.  “Do you have any idea what’s even in those?”

“Um, duh.  Deliciousness, crunchiness, and salt.  Three of the main food groups.”

Keith rolls his eyes.

“And look at this!  Two percent of your daily value of Iron.  And you’re going to try to tell me these aren’t a health food?”

Keith giggles in spite of himself.

“Just try one,” Lance cajoles, opening the bag and popping one into his mouth.  “Seriously, your life with be changed.”

“No, thanks,” Keith says.  “Some of us aren’t interested in stuffing our bodies full of hydrogenated oils.”

“Suit yourself.” Lances crunches emphatically on another ring.

They get back on the highway and drive for another few miles before Keith finally caves.

“Fine,” he says, holding out his hand.

“What?”

Keith simply gestures to the bag.  Lance honest-to-God gasps.

“I knew you’d see the light, my friend!” He exclaims, handing Keith the bag.

Keith tries one, chewing contemplatively.  They’re okay.  Lance was right about the salt and crunch.  It’s somewhat enjoyable.

“So?”

“They’re pretty good,” Keith concedes.

Lance looks positively smug.

“Alright, now have you ever had a Taki?”

“Um, no.”

He hands Keith a plastic grocery bag.

“Here, I bought some at the gas station.  You need to try them.”

Keith pushes aside bags of Cheetos and pretzels before finding the bright purple bag.  He opens it up and tries one.  They’re nice, he supposes.  Rolled up tortilla chips with chile and lime.  Not exactly fine dining, but decent road trip fare.  He tells Lance as much.

“Your lack of enthusiasm for crunchy, carb-y snacks disappoints me.” Lance says.  “Where do you find joy in your life if not in processed food?”

Keith shrugs.

“I’m not kidding, man.  What makes you happy?”

Keith is slightly taken aback.  If it were sometime past midnight, if they knew each other better, if Keith and Lance both had a couple of drinks in them, maybe he could have this conversation.  But “What makes you happy?” is not a question you casually ask an acquaintance as you munch on tortilla chips.  Lance doesn’t seem to know this.  Or doesn’t care.

In truth, Keith doesn’t really have an answer to that question.  Happiness has never been his primary motivator.  Success, vindication, proving people wrong?  Those are concrete, achievable things.  But happiness has always been too fleeting.  Here today, gone tomorrow.

When Keith was a kid, he used to love to catch frogs.  He’d find a creek, wait patiently, and when the moment was right, pounce on them.  He would hold them in his hands, talk to them.  Even try to bring them home and keep them as pets.  But every time, they wormed their way out.  Maybe he’d try to show it to a neighborhood kid, and it take the opportunity to leap away.  Sometimes he just wanted to check on it, make sure it was breathing alright in there, and it would jump out of his grasp.  The tighter he held, the more quickly he lost them.  Happiness? Happiness was a little like that.

“I’m tired.” Keith says finally.  “I’m gonna try to take a nap.”

He folds up his coat and puts in between his head and the window.

“Night man,” Lance says.  “Sweet dreams.”

**New York**

Keith is all but asleep in the passenger seat, head pressed against the window and eyes drooping closed, when Lance shouts and slams on the brakes.

“Oh my god!”

Keith jolts awake and looks frantically for the cause of Lance’s distress, but there’s barely anyone else on this stretch of highway.  Before he can ask what’s happening, Lance is pulling the car over and leaping out of the driver’s seat.

Keith extracts himself from his own seat as quickly as possible given that his left foot is asleep, and hobbles after Lance.

“What the hell is going on?” He demands.  All Keith can see as he approaches is Lance kneeling down in the snow, jeans likely getting soaked.   But when he reaches Lance, he understands immediately.

Lance is cradling a large, brown dog—a Lab, by the looks of it—whose back-right leg is bent at an awkward angle.  She’s breathing hard and whimpering, and the snow surrounding her is streaked with red.   He can see a bit of white bone poking through her fur.  Lance looks up at Keith, eyes wide with desperation.

“We have to get her to a hospital!”

Protest after protest rise in Keith’s mind—we don’t have money for a vet; injured animals are often aggressive; we don’t want this dog bleeding all over the back of your car; this is going to hold up our trip—but they die in his throat when he looks at Lance.  He’s cradling this dog so carefully, stroking her head gently and murmuring soothing words, his eyes swimming with tears.  Keith can’t say no to him.  He just can’t.

“Let me help you get her back to the car.  I’ll drive.”

They carry her together, Lance in front and Keith in back.  Keith tries to stay as steady as he can, not to jostle her.  Lance is still talking to her, soft and gentle, telling her she’ll be alright, that she’s doing so well, that she’s safe now.  Keith’s breath catches in his throat as he watches him.  They get her into the back seat, Lance sitting beside her, running his hand soothingly down her back.

Lance never stops talking to her.  Not as Keith Googles the nearest emergency veterinary clinic.  Not as Keith exits the highway and drives down some narrow, winding country roads.  Not as the two of them carry her into the clinic.  When the receptionist asks what happened, Keith has to answer, because Lance won’t stop telling the dog that it’s going to be okay, that he and Keith will take care of her, that she’s such a good, brave girl.

They don’t have to wait long before two nurses in purple scrubs rush out.

“Is she going to be okay?” Lance demands.

“I think so,” one of the nurses, a middle-aged woman with silver-streaked hair, says hurriedly.  “You did the right thing, honey.  She might not have made it without you.”

Despite this assurance, Lance is still worrying his lip.

“We’ll see if she’s chipped and try to contact her owner, and then take her into surgery right away,” the other nurse tells him.

“Can I wait here to see if she’s okay?” Lance asks, looking smaller than Keith has ever seen him.

“The surgery is probably going to be a few hours.  You’d be here for the rest of the evening.”

Lance glances over at Keith.

“Can I wait until her owner gets here, at least?  I just don’t want her to be alone.”

There’s something kind and knowing in the older nurse’s smile.

“Sure, honey.”

Lance and Keith take a seat on the hard, plastic chairs in the waiting room.

“Do you mind waiting?” Lance asks.  “I’ll stay up and drive the rest of the night to make up for the time.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Seriously, I’ll drive an extra two hours tonight,” Lance assures him, brow furrowed.  “I’m really sorry about putting us behind like this, but I just didn’t know what else—

“Lance,” Keith interrupts firmly. “I said not to worry about it.”

Lance smiles gratefully, his blue eyes soft at the corners.

Lance and Keith wait together, Lance scrolling through Twitter and Keith idly playing games on his phone.  The silence, although laced with nerves, is companionable.  Keith realizes, with a slight jolt in his stomach, that he could get used to this.  Keith’s rarely spent long enough in one place to get used to anyone, to allow himself to build a routine entwined with someone else’s.  Lance is the first person besides Shiro with whom Keith can picture himself lounging on the couch on a Friday night, or drinking a lazy Sunday morning coffee.  Even though they’ve only spent a few hours together, Keith can tell that something about Lance fits effortlessly with him in a way even Shiro never could.  That realization should be comforting, but instead, Keith finds his heart racing.

Loving something means preparing to mourn its loss.  Keith has always known this.  The stuffed lion he had clung to so desperately as a child was lost to a round of spring cleaning at one of his many foster homes.  The music teacher who had taken an interest in him, let him stay after school and plunk out simple melodies on the piano, was left behind when he changed schools that February.  The boy Keith met in tenth grade, the one who would hold his hand in secret on the bus ride home, forgot about him after a summer apart.  He couldn’t start caring about Lance, the boy who sang love songs and saved the broken things he found.  Caring was the first step to losing him.

A mother and two young girls come rushing into the clinic, interrupting Keith’s ruminations.  The mother looks distraught and one of the girls is crying.

“Where’s Daisy?” The mother asks the receptionist, looking anxiously around the waiting room, as if expecting to see her there.  “They said she’d been hit by a car.”

The little girl starts crying in earnest now, but the receptionist simply smiles with the air of someone who deals with these sorts of crises daily.

“She’s in surgery right now, but she should be okay.  It’ll only be another few hours.”

“Oh, thank God,” the woman says, tension melting out of her shoulders.

“You’ve got those two boys to thank,” she explains, gesturing to where Keith and Lance are sitting.  “They’ve been waiting this whole time.”

Lance stands up and Keith, not knowing exactly what to do with himself, does the same.

“Hi,” Lance says, stepping forward and holding out his hand.  “I’m so sorry about your dog—

Whatever Lance was going to say, whatever apology or reassurance, is cut short as the woman pulls him into a tight hug.

“Thank you so much,” she says, voice wavering a little.  “I don’t know what we would’ve done without you.”

The woman sniffles a little and steps back with her eyes shining.

“It was no trouble,” Lance assures her, blushing slightly.

She turns to Keith and before he can stop her, she’s pulled him into an embrace as well.  Keith doesn’t know how to respond.  He’s suddenly acutely aware of all of his limbs and how stiffly he’s holding them.  Before he can figure out how to arrange them into an appropriate hug position, the woman is pulling away.

“I’m Martha, by the way.  And this is Lucy and Millie.”

“I’m Lance.  And this is Keith.”

Lucy, a girl of maybe four, with big blue eyes and angelic golden curls, looks up at Lance with tears in her eyes.

“Is Daisy gonna be okay?”

Lance kneels down so he’s on eye-level with her and looks at her very seriously.

“I really think she is.  She seems like a tough girl, and she’s got some great doctors working on her right now.  Besides, it looks like she has a wonderful family.  How could she leave you guys behind?”

The girl smiles tearfully.

“You’re gonna take really good care of her as she gets better, right?”

She nods vigorously.

“Then I think she’ll be fine.”

Lance stands back up and addresses Martha.

“Well, we just wanted to wait until you all got here, but we’ve got a really long drive ahead of us, so I think we’re gonna head out.  It was wonderful to meet you.  Give our best to Daisy.”

Martha shakes hands with Lance, and then Keith.  Keith offers her a small smile.  It’s not much, but he’s never been good at these things, and it’s the best he’s got.

“Thank you.  Again,” she says earnestly.

Keith and Lance head back into the cold New York afternoon, the sun just starting to dip beneath the horizon.

**Indiana**

The next morning Lance is at the wheel and the sun is shining brightly off the snow.  True to his word, he drove until one last night before stopping at a tiny motel to catch a few hours of sleep.  Keith hadn’t been prepared for the sight of Lance just after he woke up, eyes puffy and hair mussed, wandering sleepily around the room.  It had made his stomach twist in a funny way, a way he doesn’t want to spend much time thinking about.  They’d stopped for breakfast, Lance eating more pancakes than Keith would’ve thought possible, and had crossed the Indiana state line only a half hour ago, Lance taking over for Keith at the wheel.

“I’m bored,” Lance whines, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

“You could try focusing on the road,” Keith teases.

“I _am_ focusing on the road.  But it’s just cornfield after cornfield.  I’m going to go corn blind.  It’s like snow blind, but worse.”

Keith laughs a little.

“And you expect me to do something about this?”

“Obviously!  It’s the whole reason I brought you along.  To keep me entertained.” Lance says.  “You’re an English major.  Don’t you have a book on you or something?”

“I mean, yeah, but they’re all buried beneath a mountain of stuff in the backseat.”

“Then we’re pulling over,” Lance announces. “Because you’re going to read me something.”

“To prevent you from going corn blind?”

“Exactly.”

Lance pulls over next to a vast field, dead stalks of corn poking up intermittently throughout the snow.  In fairness, their landscape has been pretty monotonous.  Identical snowy fields and the occasional herd of cows.

Shivering, Keith reluctantly leaves the warmth of the car and heads to the backseat.  He shoves aside Lance’s many bags before reaching his duffle, tucked away on the floor.  He’s got a copy of _Othello_ , an Auden poetry anthology, and _The Wizard of Oz._ He grabs _Oz_ and Auden and gets back into the warm cabin of the car.

“How do you feel about poetry?” He asks Lance.

Lance shrugs.

“It’s fine, I guess.  Never really got into it enough to have an opinion.”

“Well, Auden is excellent, so I’ll read you a little of him.  And then…”

Keith shows Lance the other book.

“ _The Wizard of Oz?_ Sweet! I haven’t read that since I was a kid.”

Keith holds up his hand.

“Not yet.  We’re gonna introduce you to some culture first.”

Lance sighs.

“Whatever.”

Keith flips through the anthology, looking for one of his favorites.

“Here,” he says, settling on one. “This one’s really good.  It’s called ‘The More Loving One.’”

“Okay.”

Lance doesn’t sound convinced.

“Looking up at the stars, I know quite well  
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,” Keith begins, and Lance laughs.  
"But on earth indifference is the least  
We have to dread from man or beast.  
  
How should we like it were stars to burn  
With a passion for us we could not return?  
If equal affection cannot be,  
Let the more loving one be me.  
  
Admirer as I think I am  
Of stars that do not give a damn,  
I cannot, now I see them, say  
I missed one terribly all day.  
  
Were all stars to disappear or die,  
I should learn to look at an empty sky  
And feel its total dark sublime,  
Though this might take me a little time.”

Keith finishes and Lance is uncharacteristically quiet.  Panic bubbles in Keith’s stomach.  This was stupid, wasn’t it?  Reading a poem to a guy he hardly knows?  It probably seems so pretentious.  Why couldn’t he just have stuck with _The Wizard of Oz?_

“You have a nice voice for reading,” Lance says finally.

“Oh.  Thanks.”

“But do you really think that’s true?  That indifference is the least we have to dread?  I mean, indifference seems kind of awful.  Like being ignored, you know?  That’s the worst.”

Keith contemplates that for a moment. It’s a valid point.

“I never thought of it that way.  I guess the part I like the best is the second stanza.  The idea that it’s better to be the admirer than the admired.  I don’t think I’ve heard it put like that before.  It’s sort of beautiful, when you think about it.”

“I guess,” Lance says, sounding unconvinced.  “Maybe it’s just me, but I happen to like being admired.”

He throws Keith an exaggerated wink, and even though it’s only a joke, Keith feels his cheeks flush.

“Yeah, you love attention, we get it,” he grumbles, no real venom in it.  “Well, you’ve gotten you requisite dose of culture for the day.   _Wizard of Oz_ now?”

Lance beams.

“Hell yeah!  Let’s see what Dorothy and the gang are up to.”

Keith opens to the first chapter.

“Dorothy lived in the midst of the great Kansas prairies, with Uncle Henry, who was a farmer, and Auntie Em, who was the farmer’s wife…”

**Nebraska**

The glowing digital clock in Lance’s car reads 2:17.   The day had been a long one.  Keith finds travelling, despite being a mostly passive activity, to be uniquely tiring.  He had read a third of _The Wizard of Oz_ to Lance before it was his turn to drive, and then Lance had entertained him with stories about childhood mischief and spectacularly failed romances.  They’d played twenty questions (Lance stumped Keith with “alien,” but only because he answered every question with “I don’t know,” his defense being that nothing about extraterrestrial life was known, or if it was, it was kept under heavy government security) and other silly road trip games.  Lance seemed to have an endless number of ways to make the time pass quickly.  The sun set before Keith knew it, and cold December darkness descended on the highway.

Keith’s doing his best to keep his eyes open, but the monotony of the Nebraska countryside is lulling him into a state of comfortable sleepiness.  After rubbing at his eyes for the third time in two minutes, he turns to Lance.

Keith hesitates for a moment.  Lance is sleeping so peacefully, rolled up hoodie pillowed under his head, eyelashes fanning out over his cheeks, breathing steady and slow.  He’s got the hint of a smile playing on his lips.  Something in Keith’s chest tightens as he looks at Lance, something warm and eager.

He turns his attention back to the road and clears his throat.

“Lance?”

Lance sighs a little and nuzzles into his makeshift pillow.

“Lance, wake up.”

Lance opens his eyes and blink blearily, hair flattened slightly on one side.

“Wassamatter, Keith?”

He looks so small and soft in the darkness.  A part of Keith almost regrets waking him.

“Nothing.  I thought we might want to find somewhere to stop for the night.  I’m getting a little tired and you look way too sleepy to be driving.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” he mumbles.

“I saw a sign for a motel just a few exits up.  We can stop there.”

“Mhmm.”  Lance puts his head back down.

Keith drives for several more miles, keeping an eye out for Lodging road signs.  Finally, a few exits up, he sees one with a singular motel.  He supposes it’s the best they’ll do this far out in the countryside, so he takes the exit and follows the signs for a few more miles.

The motel is nothing special.  A squat, white building.  Brown numbered doors facing a crowded parking lot.  Standard road trip lodging.  Keith sends Lance inside with their overnight bags to get a room while he parks the car.  The heating, which they’ve kept on high for the entire trip, starts sounding labored, whirring picking up in speed and volume, but Keith figures he’ll deal with that tomorrow.

He heads into the motel lobby where Lance is waiting.  He’s fiddling with the key and shifting from foot to foot, but smiles upon seeing Keith.

“Hey, buddy! So here’s the deal: there’s only one room left, and it’s a single.  So I guess you and I will be bunkmates for the night!”

Lance laughs a little.  Keith freezes.

“A single? You mean like, one bed?”

“Yeah, man, I’m sorry.  It’s all they had left.  And we’re, like, in the middle of nowhere right now, so I didn’t want to try our luck at finding another motel anywhere nearby.”

“No, it’s cool,” Keith says as neutrally as he can manage, quickly grabbing his bag from Lance and turning around so Lance won’t see him blush.  “C’mon, let’s go.”

The motel room is tiny and sparsely decorated—a striped grey bedspread, wood paneled walls, stained green carpeting, no art on the walls—but it’s warm and it has a bed.   _A_ bed.  One, single bed that Keith and Lance are going to be sharing.

Lance doesn’t seem remotely fazed by this.  He’s humming under his breath as he roots around in his bag, pulling out various bottles and tubes of God-knows-what.  Lance uses more skincare products than anyone Keith’s ever known.  When Keith first saw them, he teased Lance for being so high maintenance, but Keith has to admit that they work.  Even running on little sleep, road trip junk food, and too much coffee, Lance always has a certain glow to him, like he’s lit up from the inside.

“You can have the first shower,” Lance offers without looking up.

Lance’s voice pulls Keith out of his reverie, and he realizes he’s been standing motionless in the doorway.

“Cool, thanks,” he says, willing his voice to stay even.

He grabs his soap and a clean t-shirt and pair of boxers and heads into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.  He can still hear Lance puttering about the room on the other side.

He turns on the shower and the pipes groan.  The water comes out cold at first, but Keith doesn’t wait for it to warm up.  He just steps in, hoping the cold will help him focus.

He can’t exactly say what has him so bothered about sharing a bed with Lance.  He’s slept beside enough foster siblings to know he’s an unobtrusive bedfellow, doesn’t thrash around or steal blankets.  Even in his sleep, Keith prefers his space.  He’ll simply stay firmly on his side of the bed.  He’ll fall asleep quickly.  He’ll lie curled towards the wall, facing away from Lance.  There will be no unbidden hands reaching out in his sleep for something warm, no listening to Lance’s breathing, no watching his sleeping form.  Keith will sleep, he’ll wake up, and it’ll be over.

Keith doesn’t dawdle in the shower.  He’s never been one to try to postpone the inevitable.  He dries himself, dresses, and returns to the room.

“Your turn,” he says, not looking at Lance.

Lance gathers an armful of those bottles and a change of clothes and heads into the bathroom.

Keith hopes to fall asleep before Lance returns, but he has no such luck.  Although he’s exhausted and Lance takes remarkably long in the shower, sleep eludes him.  He lies on his side, facing the wall, heart hammering in his chest.

_There’s nothing to be anxious about.  You’re just sleeping._

Nonetheless, he’s still awake when Lance emerges from the bathroom fifteen minutes later, rubbing his hair dry with a towel.  He slips under the covers next to Keith like they do this every day. Like it’s nothing.

_That’s because it is nothing.  Stop being such a dumbass._

Lance sighs and stretches, his hand nearly brushing Keith’s.  Keith’s stomach lurches.

“Night, man,” Lance says, before rolling over to face the other wall.

“Good night,” Keith manages.

It takes him another twenty minutes to fall asleep.  He spends it listening to Lance’s slow, steady breathing beside him.

* * *

 

The first thing Keith is aware of when he wakes up is warmth.  Something warm and solid is pressed against his chest.  It’s nice.  He feels pleasantly sleepy, and shifts in closer.  He runs his hand down his bedfellow’s side, fingertips trailing from cotton to an exposed strip of skin.   He sweeps his hand back upward, fingers combing through short, soft hair.  He opens his eyes, a sleepy smile spreading across his face.  The image comes to him in pieces—the fluffy brown hair, tanned skin, an elfin profile.

His heart drops into his stomach.

The body he’s curled around, the one he’d been so gently caressing, is _Lance._

Keith’s first instinct is to spring apart and leap out of bed, but he stops himself.  He doesn’t want to wake Lance and be forced to explain whatever the hell is going on here.  Slowly and carefully, he extracts his legs from where they’re entwined with Lance’s, removes his hand from his warm side, and rolls to face the wall.  He tries to steady his breathing and go back to sleep, but his mind is racing.

 _There’s nothing to be thinking about,_ he chastises himself.   _You sleep next to another warm body, you gravitate towards it.  It’s practically a scientific law._

(Keith pointedly refuses to admit to himself that in all the previous beds he’d shared with foster siblings, he’d never done _that._ )

After a half hour of trying, sleep proves a futile endeavor.  Keith, although sleepy and content only moments ago, now feels like he’s had a triple shot of espresso.  His heart is racing and his mind won’t quiet, so he rolls out of bed and heads into the bathroom.  With his face is washed and his teeth brushed, he feels a bit better.  Away from the warmth of Lance’s body, the softness of his skin, it’s easier to convince himself that holding him like that was nothing.  It’s like he said—he probably got cold in the night and latched onto the warmest thing within reach.  Nothing weird about that.  Nothing significant.

Lance, when he wakes to his alarm a half-hour later, doesn’t seem aware of anything that happened during the night.  He sits up and rubs at his eyes with his fists, like a little kid.  It’s strangely endearing.

“Morning,” he mumbles, stumbling to the bathroom.  He brushes by Keith, almost-but-not-quite touching.  Keith’s stomach goes hollow.

They dress and pack their thing, Keith watching carefully for any change in Lance’s behavior, anything indicating he knows what happened last night.  But there’s nothing.  He’s grumpier than usual, but that’s easily explained by the little sleep he got.

They pull back onto the highway, Keith at the wheel, and there’s still nothing.  Just Lance’s usual whining that he wants coffee and food.

“Have you ever had a McDonald’s hash brown?” He asks, voice almost reverent.  “They’re so damn good, Keith.  They are a spiritual experience.  We have to get some.”

“Sure, Lance.  We can stop at the next one we see.”

Lance tilts his head and narrows his eyes at Keith.

“Are you okay?  You’re acting sort of weird this morning.  Surprisingly non-combative.  And quiet.  But not in your usual dark and mysterious way.  What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Keith says hastily.  “I’m just a little tired.”

“Oh no, did I keep you up last night?  I’m really sorry if I did.  I can be a bit of a restless sleeper.”

“No, it wasn’t you.” Keith assures him, feeling a slight blush spreading across his cheeks.  He does _not_ want to steer the conversation towards last night.  “It’s just that we got in at three and woke up at seven.   Not a ton of sleep.  But I’ll nap in the car later.”

“Alright, man,” Lance says, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

Keith stares down the nearly empty highway.  Here, with the road stretching straight to the horizon, Keith can imagine that it never has to end.  The road.  The trip.  He and Lance could stay in motels and eat at cheap roadside diners.  They wouldn’t need anything or anyone, just each other’s company and the warmth of the car.  They could live like this, on the road, forever.

Keith shakes his head slightly, banishing the thought.  Of course this can’t last forever.  He’s being foolish.  This trip and Lance are temporary, as everything in his life has been.  The road has to end, and there’s nothing but an empty apartment waiting for him when it does.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know I said this would be a two-parter, but I came to a good stopping point in my writing and I really wanted to give y'all another chapter! So there will be a third part!
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who commented on the last chapter! Your encouragement really helped motivate me and I can't express my gratitude enough!

**Wyoming**

They stop for dinner at a cheap, greasy diner, all red leather booths and chrome lined tables and comfortable noise.  They serve all-day breakfast, and Lance insists on ordering pancakes and eggs for dinner.

“There’s nothing inherently breakfast-y about pancakes or eggs or bacon or anything.  Meals are a construct.  We should be able to have soup for breakfast and waffles for dinner.  We must break free of the constraints of Western society! Viva la revolution!”

Keith tries to tell him off with a straight face, but ends up giggling and giving in.

They chat about high school over stacks of syrupy pancakes.  Lance confesses to being a class clown, always making jokes and pulling pranks and getting detention.  Keith, in turn, admits to being a bit of a loner in high school, not fitting in anywhere.  He fails to mention how very little has changed in that regard.  

Or perhaps it has.

Lance, Keith realizes, may be his first real friend in his entire three semesters of college.  His only real friend besides Shiro.  The realization should be slightly depressing, but instead Keith finds a peculiar warmth blossoming in his chest.  He’s feels very lucky to have found Lance, even if it took a little while.

Immediately after the warmth, however, comes a wave of  uncertainty.  Lance is likely a popular guy.  He’s funny and charming and kind.  He probably has endless friends with whom to grab lunch or spend a Saturday night.  Friends who are just as outgoing and warm.  Why would he want to spend his time with _Keith,_ of all people?

“Keith?  Hey, Keith, where’d you go?”

Lance is looking at Keith curiously.  He must’ve spaced out for a bit there, too caught up in his own thoughts.

Keith has never tolerated uncertainty well, and he’s never been good at subtleties, so he just comes out and asks it.

“Would you want to hang out when we got back to school?” He asks, hoping he doesn’t sound as desperate as he feels.

Lance furrows his eyebrows, looking somewhat confused.

_You idiot! Of course he doesn’t want to be friends when you get back to school.  He just offered you a ride because he’s a nice guy, not because he actually wanted to spend three straight days with you._

“Dude, what sort of question is that?” Lance says, smiling. “Of course I want to hang out!”

The warmth flares back into Keith’s chest, even brighter and bigger than before.

“I’ve asked you to go out or study, like, a dozen times this semester, and you’ve always turned me down.  I figured you just didn’t want to be friends.”

“Oh,” Keith replies, feeling foolish.  Now that he thinks about it, Lance _had_ extended invitations throughout the semester, and Keith, idiot that he is, always turned him down.  How could he ever have thought Lance annoying or bothersome?

“I guess I just have a hard time getting to know people,” Keith admits.  “I’ve never been much good at making friends.”

“Don’t worry about it.   I’m just glad we got there eventually.” Lance says.  “Anyway, the whole aloof and brooding thing totally works on you.”

Lance smiles slyly and Keith feels his cheeks heat up.  He takes another bite of his pancakes so he doesn’t have to reply.

**Nevada**

Keith had driven late into the night, stopping somewhere south of Salt Lake City to catch a bit of sleep.  They’d found a motel room with two beds that night, and Keith had told himself he wasn’t disappointed.   He had lain in his bed, listening to Lance’s breathing from across the room, the queen sized mattress feeling too big without another body to occupy it.

That morning had been his third time seeing a sleepy, freshly awoken Lance.  He should have been used to it by now.  But his heart still did a funny sort of flip watching him pad barefoot to the bathroom and fumble, bleary-eyed, for his toothbrush.

They’d crossed into Nevada an hour and a half ago, and Keith feels sadder than he has a right to that their trip is coming to an end.  After three days of Lance’s company, Keith doesn’t know how he’ll go back to being alone.  He worries he’ll be too aware of the quiet without Lance’s constant chatter, like the heavy, ringing silence after a symphony movement.

Eventually, landmarks begin to look familiar.  The corner bodega owned by the friendly elderly couple.  The park where Keith used to feed the pigeons.  Keith’s old high school.  They’re close.

“Well, my friend,” Lance says as they finally pull up in front of Shiro’s building. “It has been an honor driving with you.”

He half-bows in his seat.

“Whatever, nerd,” Keith says, rolling his eyes even as the corners of his mouth twitch upwards.

“You want some help taking your stuff in?”

Keith’s heart skips a beat.  He’s almost pulled this off, almost gotten Lance to believe his life isn’t a complete shit show.  He’s kept up the façade of having a brother to spend the holidays with, not an empty apartment and a surly cat.  The last thing he needs is for Lance to come traipsing inside and realize all that had been a front, that Keith’s alone and pathetic.

“Nah, man, I got it.”  Keith hopes he sounds offhand.

_Just let me get the hell out of here.  Let me pull this off.  Please._

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Keith opens the trunk and starts pulling out his duffle bag and backpack.  He’ll wave Lance off and be inside in a matter of moments.  He’ll do it.  He’ll seem like a normal, whole person.  Someone people care about.  Someone who’s loved.  Lance won’t have to know otherwise.

Then the door to the building opens.

Keith sees a familiar pair of broad shoulders and a shock of white hair.

_Motherfucker._

Before Keith can think of a plan, before he can hide or get back in the car or just book it out of there, Shiro spots him.  He smiles and waves and Keith is ready for the earth to open up and swallow him whole.

“Hey Keith!” He calls, unaware of Keith’s turmoil.

“Weren’t you supposed to have left yesterday?” Keith demands.  He couldn’t care less about sounding rude right now.

“Really, Keith? That’s all I get after not seeing you for four months?” Shiro asks with a wry smile.

Keith laughs weakly.  He wishes he and Shiro had some sort of code, some way of indicating that he needs to leave immediately, before—

“Hi there!”

Lance hops out of the driver’s seat.

_That._

“I’m Lance,” he says, extending his hand.  “You must be Shiro!”

“That’s me. Nice to meet you.” He shakes Lance’s hand.  “Are you two staying together over break?”

“Nah, my family would kill me if I didn’t spend the holidays with them.  Besides, I wouldn’t want to intrude on all the brotherly bonding.”

Keith silently wills Shiro not to say anything, not to correct Lance.  Please.  Just let him have this.

“What do you mean?”

“You know, you two and the holidays and family time and all that!”

Shiro looks from Keith to Lance.

“I’m actually leaving the country,” he says, hesitantly, as if aware he’s making some sort of mistake.  “Keith is just staying at my place.”

Lance looks at Keith with a small frown and big eyes.

“I thought you said you were staying with your brother.”

Keith doesn’t say anything.  He should’ve known it would end up like this.  Should’ve known that if the world can find an opportunity to fuck him over, it’ll take it.  Should’ve known not to get close to people like Lance, people with bright eyes and big families. Should’ve known that try as he might to hold himself together, some of the broken pieces will spill out eventually.  He should’ve known all of this.  But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“You mean you’re spending the holidays all alone?”  Lance’s voice is quiet and sad and it makes something in Keith snap.

“Look, Lance,” he spits.  He needs to be angry right now, or he fears he’ll end up being something much worse.  “Not all of us have what you have, okay?  Not all of us have these perfect fucking lives.  And I didn’t want to tell you, because you’d try to _fix_ things.  And I don’t want that, okay?  I don’t want your _pity_ or your _help_.  We’re not all injured animals just lying on the side of the road, waiting for someone to fucking save us.”

Lance’s eyes are wide and hurt.

“Keith, that’s not what I—”

“Save it, Lance,” Keith snaps.  He turns on his heel so he doesn’t have to keep looking at Lance and storms into the building, letting the door slam behind him.

Keith runs up the stairs, relishing the burn in his legs.  He throws himself down on the couch, not bothering to take off his coat.  Charlie, in an uncharacteristic display of friendliness, hops up onto his lap.  Keith shoves him back off.

This situation is exactly the one he wanted to avoid.  Lance seeing him for who he truly is—someone broken and alone.  He doesn’t want Lance’s pity.

(Keith’s not sure exactly what it is he does want from Lance.  He doesn’t want to spend too long thinking about it.)

As it turns out, storming up to an apartment that isn’t his proves an ineffective way to exit a conversation, as Shiro comes up after him within minutes.

“Keith?” He asks, opening the door.

Keith says nothing and doesn’t move from where he’s flopped on the couch.  Shiro sighs.

“Budge up,” Shiro says, coming to sit next to him.  Keith begrudgingly bends his knees and lets Shiro have the far side of the couch.

“Want to tell me what all that was about?”

“Don’t you have a flight to catch?” Keith snaps.

Shiro never rises to Keith’s bait.  He just smiles slightly and places a hand on Keith’s knee.  A lump starts to rise in Keith’s throat, and he swallows deliberately.

“I don’t know what the story is between you and Lance, but he seemed pretty hurt when you stormed off.  He’s waiting outside for me to come back and assure him you’re okay.  I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t throw away that kind of person so easily.”

“You can tell him I’m fine.”

“I think maybe you should tell him yourself.”

Keith stares at the ceiling.

“What’s going on, Keith?”  Shiro’s voice is so gentle that it opens something up inside Keith, and the whole story comes tumbling out.  About Lance offering him the ride.  About how badly Keith wanted to keep his fucked up family situation to himself.  About how much he hates being the object of pity.  About how for once in his life, just once, he wanted to be normal.

Shiro is quiet for a while before he speaks.

“I don’t think that was pity, Keith.  I think he’s just worried about his friend.”

“We’re not friends.” Keith snaps.  “I hardly even know him.  He doesn’t have any right to be worrying about me.”

“I’m not sure you get to decide that.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” Keith says brusquely.

“Look, Keith, it might’ve escaped your notice, but I’m missing an arm,” Shiro says, not unkindly.  “I know what pity looks like.  It’s not that.  I realize I can’t force you to do anything, but if I were in your shoes, I’d go down and talk to him.”

Keith keeps staring at the ceiling and doesn’t respond.  Shiro sits beside him.  Not asking anything of him, just waiting, close and distant all at once.  Keith’s mind is screaming at him to listen to Shiro, to get up and go downstairs and explain everything to Lance.  Keith’s spent almost seventy-two hours straight with this boy.  He knows what Lance looks like first thing in the morning, or frustrated in bumper-to-bumper traffic.  He knows that Lance tries to catch all the world’s hurt in those two hands of his and never worries about buckling under the weight.  He knows how Lance’s body fits against his under scratchy motel sheets.  He knows that if he goes downstairs right now and smooths things over, Lance will listen and forgive.  Yet try as he might, he can’t pull his body off the couch.  Can’t descend the stairs.  Can’t ask for what he needs.

Shiro sits beside him for a good quarter of an hour before he has to go.  Keith was right; he does have a flight to catch.  Shiro stands up from the couch and looks at Keith for just a beat too long.  He has something to say, Keith knows it, but he keeps quiet.  Just sighs a small sigh before wishing Keith a Merry Christmas and leaving.

And then Keith is alone in the apartment, the silence hanging heavy in the air.  He tells himself it’s better this way.  Alone is Keith’s natural state.

Keith lies on his back and stares at the ceiling as the sky darkens outside.  He doesn’t think about Lance.  Doesn’t picture his eyes, crinkling at the edges when he smiles, or his crooked mouth open in a laugh.  Doesn’t wonder and wish for what could be between them.  He simply lies on his back as the sun sets, jaw clenched and hands balled into fists.

Finally, when the apartment is nearly dark, he gets up and turns on the light.  He checks his phone.  He’d had it on silent all day.  There’s a string of texts.

**Lance**

hey, man, you good?

**Lance**

shiro said he went up to talk to you, so i’m just waiting in the car.  hope ur okay :)

**Lance**

hey btw have you ever wondered how googly eyes got invented?  like who even thought of them in the first place? inquiring minds want to know!

**Lance**

shiro came back down.  said ur good, so i’m gonna head out now.  have a good break!!!

**Lance**

crossed the california state line.  miss my driving buddy!!! car is rlly quiet without u :( :(

**Lance**

okay i’m home!!!! :D :D

**Lance**

hey so i’ve gotten the feeling i’ve made u mad somehow.  wanna talk about what’s going on?

**Lance**

okay it’s cool that u don’t wanna talk.  i’m gonna let you be now byee!!

Keith slips his phone back into his pocket without replying.  He feeds Charlie a half-scoop of food and fixes himself some Kraft Dinner.

Break passes slowly.  Keith has always felt comfortable alone, but after three days with Lance, solitude doesn’t feel right, like a favorite sweater that came out of the dryer shrunken and ill-fitting.

Shiro’s house is full of good books, so he fills his time with Virginia Woolf and T.S. Elliot, even going to the trouble to look up every single allusion in “The Wasteland.”  He doesn’t even like that poem.  He just needs a way to fill the empty hours.

When he aches for something warm, he takes showers so hot they almost scald.

When his skin doesn’t feel like it fits right, he laces up his shoes and runs until he forgets everything but how to breathe.

He sleeps and he wakes up and he doesn’t allow himself the indulgence of thinking about Lance.  He’s almost successful.

It’s when he’s lying awake at night, staring into the darkness, that he wonders why he did it.  Why he stormed off.  Why he hasn’t attempted to contact Lance since.  Why he walked away from the one good thing he had going.

When he’s angry, he tells himself it’s because he couldn’t stand Lance’s pity.

When he’s sad, he tells himself it’s because it was never going to work out between the two of them anyway.  That he was cutting his losses.

(Sometimes, however, just before he falls asleep, a small, honest part of him suggests that it might have been because he was too damn close to being happy).

On Christmas, Keith orders Chinese food and pets Charlie and doesn’t think about Lance, celebrating surrounded by his family, eating good food and exchanging gifts.

On New Year’s Day, Keith watches the _Twilight Zone_ marathon on Sy-Fy and doesn’t pretend this next year will be any different than those before.

On the fourth, Shiro gets home.  Keith tries not to let on how happy he is to see him.

They cook together and watch movies together and stay up late chatting over big mugs of hot chocolate.  Keith feels close to whole again.  Shiro, mercifully, doesn’t try to bring up Lance.  It’s one of the things Keith has always liked best about him.  Shiro gives him his space.

However, as the end of break draws ever nearer, Keith realizes he can’t avoid the topic forever.

“Shiro?” He asks, walking into the living room.  Shiro’s stretched out on the couch, Charlie curled up on his stomach.

“What’s up?”

There’s really no good way to ask this.

“Do you think you could give me a ride back to school?”

It’s an enormous favor.  A favor of the magnitude Keith usually doesn’t allow himself to ask.  But the prospect of three days in the car with Lance is almost unbearable.

Shiro sighs, a slight crease between his eyebrows.

“I don’t think I can.  I’m really sorry, but I already took a lot of time off of work to travel over the holidays.  I can’t take another six days off right now.”

It’s what Keith expected, but it was worth a try.  The truth is, at this point, Lance is his only option for getting back to school.  He can’t afford to fly.  He has no other ride.  And even daring as he is, he’s not going to hitchhike.  It’s either ride with Lance or don’t return to school.  And Keith has worked too damn hard for his education to throw it away because of some boy.

Reluctantly, he sends a text.

**Keith**

hey, are you coming through nevada on the way back to school?

Keith puts his phone down on the kitchen table on silent.  He goes into the living room, reads for an hour, and returns.

**Lance**

absolutely!! i can pick you up on the seventh!  sound good?

**Keith**

yeah. thanks.

**Lance**

:D :D :D

* * *

 

On the morning of the seventh, Keith sits on the front steps of the building, dreading the arrival of Lance’s car at the curb.  He hardly slept last night for all his worrying.  He’s not sure why he can’t just let it go, return to the camaraderie and laughter of the drive up.  It would be so easy.  He knows Lance will forgive him.  

Maybe that’s why he can’t do it.  Keith knows that if he apologizes and asks to go back to how things were, Lance would accept instantly with an understanding smile and very little fuss.  Might even try to hug Keith.  And Keith simply couldn’t bear that.

Keith deserves anger or frustration, indifference if Lance is feeling particularly generous.  He was an unmitigated asshole -- bumming a ride across the country, never once being asked to chip in for gas, and then quite literally slamming the door in Lance’s face.  Call it punishment or self-sabotage or some other psychobabble nonsense, but Keith knows he doesn’t deserve Lance’s kindness, so he simply can’t let himself have it.

The familiar beige sedan pulls up to the curb.  Keith slings his duffle bag over his shoulder and approaches.  

Keith ran in high school.  Track.  He was pretty good at it, too, always looking to push himself to go faster and harder and farther.  Never, in all his history of early morning trail runs and sprint intervals, in all the times he ran until he vomited, has traversing a distance been as difficult as making it from those front steps to Lance’s car.

Keith forces himself forward, one foot in front of the other, legs feeling leaden.  He opens the back door and tosses his bag inside before climbing into the passenger seat.

“Hi there,” Lance says, cheerfulness sounding slightly forced.  He hands Keith a coffee, just like last time.  Keith, hands moving on autopilot, takes it.

“Hey,” Keith says tonelessly.  He takes a sip of the coffee and it burns his tongue.

Lance looks at him expectantly, like he wants something.  Like warmth or kindness or something else Keith is uniquely unqualified to give.

After a beat of silence, Lance clears his throat.

“You ready to go?”

Keith nods.

They pull away from the building in silence.

Keith tries to think of something to say to Lance, but he can’t come up with anything appropriate.  Anything that can communicate “I’m sorry” and  “I just want to go back to the way things were” and  “You don’t have to forgive me” and  “I don’t want you to forgive me” and  “I don’t even know what I _do_ want from you” and “I can’t stop thinking about the warmth of your body against mine” but not in so many words.

They merge onto the interstate in silence.

Lance keeps glancing at Keith out of the corner of his eye when he thinks Keith isn’t looking, but says nothing.  Clearly, Lance is trying to take his lead, not to push any boundaries or make Keith uncomfortable.  It’s maddening.  Why couldn’t Lance yell at him?  Why couldn’t he tell him off?  Why was Lance asking like it was him, not Keith, who had been unkind and unreasonable?

“Thanks for the coffee,” Keith says finally, because he can’t stand the silence and the constant glances.

“No problem,” Lance says carefully, like Keith is a bomb that could detonate at any moment.  It’s not an unfair comparison, the way Keith explodes, the way he indiscriminately destroys everything that stands too close.

**Nevada - Wyoming**

The remainder of the day passes in much the same way.  The two of them silent, eyes fixed on the road (excluding Lance’s painfully obvious glances).  The only conversation is a proposal to switch drivers or a request for a bathroom stop or other mundanities.  The long hours spent in the car, which flew by in a flurry of laughter and games on the way out West, drag on torturously.  Lance doesn’t sing.  He doesn’t tease Keith or tell him jokes.  He doesn’t smile.

Even dinner, some cheap chili in Wyoming, is spent in silence.  It’s painfully uncomfortable, but the longer the silence continues, the more difficult it seems to break it.

Finally, night falls, and they find a motel.  They barely speak a word before falling asleep.  In the morning, Keith knows better than to look at Lance when he wakes up.

**Nebraksa**

Keith drives through the monotonous countryside.  Lance has stopped glancing at him.  Keith tries not to think about the last time they were in Nebraska together.  About how they’d spent the night.

**Iowa**

Lance drives past cornfield after cornfield.  Keith can’t help but remember reading to him.  How Lance had told him he had a good voice for it.

**Illinois**

They stop at a convenience store to buy some snacks.  Lance’s question of “What makes you happy?” rings in Keith’s ears.

**Ohio**

They find another motel to spend the night.

**Pennsylvania**

They stop at a drive-thru for breakfast.  Lance was right about McDonald’s hash browns.

**New York**

“I wonder how Daisy is,” Lance says, breaking an hour of silence.

Keith doesn’t know how to reply.

**Massachusetts**

The snow on the sides of the road has turned to grey slush.  The sky is a stark white.

**Maine**

Finally, after an agonizing three days, they pull onto campus.  It’s funny - it looks just the same as Keith left it.  Dark and snowy.  Red brick academic buildings and large expanses of lawn.  But so much has transpired since he was last here.

Lance pulls around to the front of their building, letting Keith off before he parks the car to spare Keith the walk in the cold.

“Thanks for the ride,” Keith says, voice robotic even to his own ears.

“No problem,” Lance replies.

Keith indulges in one quick look at Lance before he exits the car.  There’s something aching and wanting in those blue eyes, something so disarmingly vulnerable that Keith feels an uncharacteristic surge of protectiveness, suddenly angry at whomever would dare to make Lance look like that.  Immediately, however, he remembers exactly whose fault it is and a leaden weight settles in his stomach.

Keith tears his eyes away quickly and opens the door.  It’s so cold his breath catches in his throat, but he doesn’t linger in the warmth of the car.  He shuts the door behind himself and walks away without looking back, just like he always has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope everyone enjoys the third season! I know I'm excited!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! I probably should explain my absence from this fic. Long story short is I thought it was absolute garbage and there was no point in continuing. But then I went back and re-read it and realized that although it wasn't a literary masterpiece, it was worth finishing. So if you've stuck around even after my several-month-long hiatus, you have my eternal thanks. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the conclusion!

**Maine**

Keith stares out the library window, snowflakes swirling elegantly in the afternoon sun.  He’s been back at school for a week and a half now, and is already up to his eyeballs in readings and assignments.  It’s nice, being so busy.  There’s less time to think about other things.  Things like road trips.  Things like motel rooms in Arkansas.  Things like blue-eyed boys with cheesy jokes and bright smiles.

Since their trip, Keith and Lance haven’t spoken.  Keith’s trying to put Lance out of his mind.  Whenever they come across each other in the hallway, Keith does not make eye contact or say hello.  He walks by quickly, staring at his feet or the wall in front of him.  It’s partially shame and embarrassment at this point.  But more than anything else, it’s anger at himself.  Keith knows Lance would forgive him, offer him his friendship, make him laugh.  And after everything Keith’s put Lance through, he shouldn’t be allowed that.  Every ache in his chest, every daydream, every lonely night spent studying in his room is strangely satisfying.  He’s getting what he deserves.  Lance is too good for him, too soft and kind and gentle.  Keith is shards of broken glass wrapped in barbed wire.  He’s the sort of thing that can’t help but hurt anything that touches it.  Lance can be with his friends.  Good people.  People who know how to reach out their hands without extending their claws.  And Keith can be alone.  It’s better this way.

So what if there’s a persistent emptiness eating away in Keith’s chest?  So what if he hurts from the moment he gets up in the morning to the moment he falls asleep at night?  So what if he’s miserable?  There’s no point in complaining about it.  It’s his own doing, after all.

Keith likely would’ve continued to spend his college career this way - friendless and angry and alone - had he not come down with the flu.

He wakes up on a Tuesday morning in February feeling just a little off.  Tired, achy, a headache starting to throb slightly at his temples.  He coughs a few times.  But he dismisses it.  He stayed up late studying the previous night and probably didn’t have enough water yesterday either.  It’s nothing to worry about.  He brushes his teeth and dresses and bundles up in his warmest winter coat before heading to class.  They’re calling for a blizzard today.  Road closures and everything.

In his class, a 9:30 lecture on  _ Paradise Lost _ , he starts shivering.  Perhaps the heating is starting to malfunction in the building.  He puts his coat back on, but it doesn’t stop.  He’s freezing, and, he realizes, putting a hand to his forehead, he’s started to sweat.  He’s started coughing in earnest now, so much that his other classmates start shooting him dirty looks for interrupting the lecture.

Still, no need for alarm.  Keith Kogane has an excellent immune system.  He doesn’t get sick.  And although his classmates may be succumbing to the annual bout of flu, he’s sure he’s fine.

Keith doesn’t have much of an appetite at lunch, but he manages to pick at a grilled cheese sandwich from the dining hall.  He makes himself drink an extra large glass of water and a cup of green tea, on the slight chance that he may be coming down with a minor cold.

At a quarter to three the snow has really started to pick up, and Keith walks down to his job at the school bookstore.  It’s a half-mile walk, one he usually makes easily.  But by the time he reaches the shop, he feels like he’s run a marathon.  Keith’s heart is pounding, he’s sweating buckets, and every part of his body aches.  He swears his eyelashes hurt.  But it’s a short shift today, just two and a half hours.  He’ll be fine.

One of his co-workers, Shay, a friendly girl on the varsity volleyball team, tells him he looks pale.  He assures her it’s nothing.  She notes that he’s sweating.  He tells her not to worry about it.  She mentions that two of her friends have come down with the flu this week.  Keith promises he doesn’t have it.

He keeps up these assurances until an hour into the shift, when he faints.

He’s working the register, and is just in the middle of calculating an alumni discount when his vision starts to go dark at the edges.  The woman he’s checking out asks him if he’s alright, and he’s about to tell her he’s fine when the shop begins to disappear down a dark tunnel.

He wakes up on the floor.

His vision is blurred, but as it clears, he sees Shay’s face, drawn and worried, looming over him.

“What happened?” Keith mumbles.  His head aches and thinking feels like wading through thick honey.

“You passed out,” Shay says.  “Are you feeling okay? Do you need me to call an ambulance?”

“What? No!  I might have a little cold, that’s all.”

Keith tries to sit up, but Shay pushes him back down easily.

“Don’t try to get up,” she admonishes him.  “At least let me call you an Uber.”

Keith looks at the swirling mass of white outside.  It’s like that children’s joke about a polar bear in a snowstorm. From what little he can see, at least a foot of snow has accumulated on the ground since this morning.

“There’s not gonna be an Uber in the entire city in this weather.” He tells her.  “I’ll just walk back to my dorm.”

Shay looks at him incredulously.

“Are you serious?  You just fainted.  You’re not walking home in a blizzard.  At least not alone.  I’ll walk you back.”

Keith starts to answer, but is overtaken by a coughing fit so strong it shakes his entire body.  When he’s regained his breath, he answers.

“We’re the only two working today.  You can’t just leave and close the shop.  Haggar would kill us if she found out.”

Haggar is their manager and an absolute tyrant.  She wouldn’t care that Keith had passed out, only that they had robbed the store of potential profits for the afternoon.

“Well you’ve gotta call someone, then, because you’re not going to make it home in this by yourself.”

Shay’s right.  Keith isn’t going to make it home by himself.  He’s weak and exhausted.  His limbs feel twice their normal weight.  His temples are throbbing.  He would do just about anything to be back in his room, lying in bed under a pile of blankets.

However, Shay is the closest thing he has to a friend on campus, and she can’t take him home.  He pulls out his phone and starts scrolling through his contacts.  All seven of them.  Shiro, Shiro’s parents, Shay, a writing workshop partner who has since graduated, that wannabe deep guy from his Modernist Poetry class, and Lance.

The choice is obvious.  That doesn’t make it any more appealing.

Keith gets up (slowly, as Shay instructs him) and sits in one of the armchairs in the shop window.  He stares at his phone.  He  _ really  _ doesn’t want to call Lance.  It would seem so selfish, ignoring Lance for weeks and then talk to him only to ask a favor.  Not to mention the absolute humiliation at having to be walked home.  But Keith is so tired.  His whole body aches.  The headache right at his temples is agonizing.  He just wants to go home.

Sighing, he presses the call button.  After two rings, Lance answers.

“Keith?” 

There’s something so hopeful and tentative in his voice that Keith’s breath catches.  He goes to respond, but is overtaken by another coughing fit.

“Keith?  Are you okay?”

Lance’s voice is laced with worry.

“Hey, Lance,” Keith manages.  He’s already regretting this call.  He should’ve just let Shay walk him home and dealt with Haggar’s wrath.  Instead, he’s gone crawling back to Lance.  It’s mortifying.  Nevertheless, he plows ahead, getting the request out in one breath.

“Look, I think I’ve got the flu and I passed out at work and now my co-worker is telling me to go home.  But there are no Ubers or cabs with the blizzard and I don’t think I can make it back to my room by myself.  Would you be able to walk me home?”

Immediately after he finishes, the full selfishness of his request really sinks in.  He’s asking Lance, a boy he’s ignored for over a month, to drop everything he’s doing, go out in a blizzard, drag Keith’s sorry ass back to his dorm, and risk catching the flu in the process.

He half-hopes Lance will refuse.  Keith’s not sure he could bear yet another favor.

“Oh my God, dude, I’m on my way right now.  Where do you work?”

“Bookstore,” Keith replies.

“Okay, hang tight, I’ll be there as soon as I can!”

Keith rests his aching head against the cool store window and closes his eyes.  Self-loathing burns hot in the pit of his stomach.  For better or for worse, Keith thinks he gets what he deserves in this life.  Everything he has, from his excellent grades to his abysmal social life, he’s earned in some way.  And then there’s Lance, the glaring anomaly.  He doesn’t deserve the time of day from someone like that, someone so endlessly kind and warm and good.  And yet Lance is venturing out in the middle of a blizzard to drag Keith, pathetic and ill, back to his dorm.  It’s not right.  He’s not worth it.  The undeservedness of it all eats away at his insides.

Shay comes over to check on him, glass of water in hand.  He gulps it down greedily, suddenly aware of how thirsty he is.  He assures Shay he’s got a friend coming to take him back to his room.  The lie pains him slightly.  Keith doesn’t know what the hell he and Lance are, but it’s certainly not friends.

Keith pulls his knees into his chest and curls up in the chair.  He’s so tired.  A brief nap while he’s waiting for Lance wouldn’t hurt any.  He closes his eyes and drifts off within moments.

Keith wakes to Lance’s voice.

“Hey, man,” he says softly.

“Hey,” Keith replies, opening his eyes.  He meets Lance’s gaze and suddenly his whole body is filled with a sort of warmth.  He hasn’t looked into Lance’s eyes in over a month, but they’re just as blue as he remembers.  His features are just as delicate.   Maybe he’s delirious with fever, but Keith feels the bizarre urge to embrace him.

 “You look awful,” Lance says with a gentle half-smile.

“”M fine,” Keith mumbles.  It’s a blatant lie.  He can’t remember ever feeling this weak and exhausted in his life.

“Yeah, okay,” Lance says.  “C’mon, let’s get you up.”

He goes to help Keith out of the chair, and on instinct, Keith shoves his hand away.  He hates being babied.  He doesn’t need help to  _ stand up. _

This assertion is immediately proven false when he stands up and his vision goes black.  He takes a wobbling step forward, trying not to faint again.

“Woah, take it easy,” Lance urges him.  He hands Keith a bottle of water.  “Drink some of this, okay?”

Keith complies, draining the entire bottle in a matter of moments.  The water is so blissfully cool and refreshing.  

“Shall we?” Lance asks. Keith nods.

Lance slings one of Keith’s arms over his own shoulders.  Keith is too weak and tired to fight it at this point.  He lets himself be walked out of the shop.  It’s grown dark outside.  The street lamps lining the sidewalks are lit, illuminating swirls of snowflakes.  He makes it a few steps outside before stopping dead.

“No,” he says, gesturing to a goddamned  _ sled _ .  “Absolutely not.”

Lance sighs.

“Keith, you’re not gonna make it home otherwise.  Look at you - you can barely stand up.”

Keith tries to protest, but starts coughing so hard he bends over from the force of it.

“I’m not joking.  Sit your ass down before you pass out again.”

Two feelings battle in Keith’s mind.  The first, the absolute humiliation at being pulled home on a sled by Lance, of all people.  The second, utter, bone-deep exhaustion.  Prideful as he is, he’s not sure how much longer he can stand up.  Lance is right - there’s no way he’s walking a half-mile back to their dorm.

With a sigh, he sits down on the cheap plastic.  There’s a thermos balanced next to him.  Keith holds it up and looks at Lance curiously.

“Alphabet soup,” he answers. “I had a spare can in my room and I thought it might help.  Nutrients and fluids and all that.”

Were Keith a little stronger, he’d probably scream.  He doesn’t deserve this.  He doesn’t deserve the smallest shred of kindness from Lance.  And yet here Lance is, offering, quite literally, to drag Keith home.  Being so maddeningly thoughtful as to bring Keith hot soup and a bottle of water.  Why doesn’t Lance understand that Keith isn’t worth this?

“Ready to go?” Lance asks.

“Yeah.”

Lance begins dragging the sled through the snow.  He’s stronger than his skinny frame would suggest, but it’s still slow going.  He’s breathing hard, stopping every so often to rest and catch his breath.  He keeps checking in on Keith, making sure that he’s okay, that he’s not too cold, that he doesn’t need anything.

Being taken home like this is so painfully embarrassing that Keith feels nauseous.  Or maybe that’s just the flu.  Regardless, the shame burns.  Lance’s breath puffs out in white clouds.  He’s exerting himself like this for Keith, who has given him nothing but silence and distance for weeks.

Lance, however, doesn’t seem bothered by it.  When he’s not asking after Keith, he’s humming songs under his breath, seemingly content.  Keith doesn’t recognize the songs, but they’re nice to listen to all the same.

“You’re heavier than you look, Kogane,” Lance jokes.  He’s stopped for the third time, hands on his knees, breathing hard.

Keith is too embarrassed and exhausted to respond.  Lance lifts his head and flashes Keith one of his disarmingly bright smiles.  There are snowflakes melting on his eyelashes.  Keith’s stomach lurches slightly and he looks away.

“Alright, back to it,” Lance says, smile a bit dimmer, and begins trudging through the snow again.

After twenty more minutes of walking they arrive back at the dorm.  Lance helps Keith up and into the building, leaving the sled sitting by the front steps.  They climb the stairs slowly, Lance offering gentle encouragements and reassurances and stopping whenever Keith gets too dizzy.  Keith is reminded, bizarrely, of Daisy.  Of how gentle Lance was then, of how good he is with hurt, frightened things.  Maybe that’s what drew Keith to him in the first place.

Lance gets Keith into his room and tells him to put on some pajamas.  Then he leaves, but not without the assurance he’ll be back soon.  Keith, too tired to snap about not needing Lance’s help, pulls on some sweatpants and his softest t-shirt.  He crawls into his bed, piling his blankets on top of himself.  Finally.  He puts his head down on his pillow and shuts his eyes, almost groaning at the pleasure of finally being able to lay his aching body down.

Lance is back a moment later, another bottle of water in hand.  He warns Keith about dehydration and makes him drink the whole thing.  Thirst assuaged, Keith curls up on his side.  He’s so tired that falling asleep takes only a matter of minutes.  Lance sits beside him the whole time.

Keith wakes up fourteen hours later feeling groggy and disoriented, but less exhausted.  He glances around his room, sunlight streaming in at a low angle.  It must be afternoon.  He’s missed his classes for the day.  His gaze drifts towards his desk, where there’s a scrap of paper and another water bottle.  Slowly, he gets out of bed, still weak.

He reaches the desk and looks at the scrap of paper.  In a messy scrawl, someone has written “Drink this!! Hope you feel better!”  The handwriting isn’t familiar, but who wrote it is no mystery.  Obligingly, Keith opens the water bottle and takes a drink.  He doesn’t know where Lance is getting all of this water.  Perhaps the vending machine in the common room.  He quickly banishes that thought from his head, the idea of Lance spending even a dollar on him too much to bear.

Keith takes the next day off from class, sleeping for a good deal of it.  By the third day the flu, he’s well enough to sit through his lectures and get a bit of studying done despite the occasional cough.  In fact, the flu is hardly the biggest barrier to his studying.  That title belongs to Lance.

He’s a puzzle Keith just can’t figure out.  Usually, Keith scares off any well-meaning would-be friends with with a few glares and refused invitations.  But Lance, like a dogged fighter who just doesn’t know when to stay down, keeps getting back up and trying again.  

Perhaps Lance isn’t a puzzle.  Maybe he’s the singular piece that doesn’t fit anywhere into Keith’s jigsaw understanding of how the world is supposed to work.

* * *

The day after his symptoms finally abate, Keith finds himself at Lance’s door.   He has no idea what he’s doing here. He tells himself it’s because he was raised to be polite, and he owes Lance his thanks.   As simple as that. He doesn’t allow himself to think that it’s because he misses the cadence of Lance’s laugh or the mischievous glint in his eyes.

Regardless of his motivation, he finds himself knocking on the cheap laminate.  For a moment nothing happens. Lance must not be there. Keith isn’t sure whether he’s relieved and disappointed.  But then a voice hollers “Door’s open!  Come on in.” and Keith suddenly feels very dizzy.

For a moment, he considers just walking away.  But his body moves of its own accord and before he can stop himself, he’s opening the door and coming inside.

Keith had never seen Lance’s room before.  It’s a typical college dorm room, hardly unusual, but somehow so utterly Lance.  The room is disorganized, clearly the result of two young men living in a much too small a space. Keith considers Lance’s side of the room.  Above his bed are some crayon drawings full of smiling stick figures.  Keith imagines they’re from the nieces he’s heard so much about.  There’s a collage of postcards above his desk, mostly depicting sunny beaches, the water almost obscenely blue.  His bed is unmade, but piled high with pillows and blankets, almost nest-like.  The skincare products Keith teased him for crowd every available inch of space on his sink.  An array of knick-knacks and posters make the room seem less like nondescript student housing and more like a true home.  

“Hey, Keith,” Lance says.   He’s sitting at his desk, books and notes haphazardly piled on the surface.  His roommate, thankfully, appears to be out. “What’s up?”

There’s a note of something in his voice that Keith can’t quite place.  Perhaps trepidation.  Perhaps annoyance.  Perhaps, Keith hopes, happiness.

“I just wanted to say thanks,” Keith says, shifting awkwardly on his feet.  He suddenly doesn’t know what to do with his arms.  He tries crossing them.  “You know, for Tuesday, when I had the flu and all.”

“No problem, bro,” Lance says, smiling that warm and open smile of his.  “Happy to help.”

For a brief moment, they stare at each other in silence.  Some glimmer of hope shines in Lance’s eyes.  Keith can’t bear to look at it for very long, so he tears his gaze away.

“Well, yeah, just wanted to say thanks,” he says, turning to leave.  Here is his second chance, looking up at him with wide eyes, and he’s turning his back on it.  He clenches his left hand into a fist and reaches for the door handle with his right.

He’s almost out of the room when Lance stops him.

“You know, the W.H. Whatever guy was a moron,” Lance says, seemingly out of nowhere.

Startled by this abrupt shift in the conversation and harboring strong literary opinions, Keith responds without thinking.

“Auden was one of the greatest poets of the 20th century,” he says, turning to face Lance.  Lance stands up from his desk, looking equal parts brave and frightened.  Keith can tell, with a sort of preternatural sense, that this moment is significant somehow.  His heart starts beating a little faster.

“Yeah, okay, maybe he was a great poet, but he didn’t understand life for shit.”

“What do you mean?”

Lance takes a deep breath and looks down at the floor.  A muscle jumps in his jaw.  He raises his gaze to look right at Keith, blue eyes overly bright.

“I mean ‘indifference is the least we have to dread’ or whatever that nonsense was.  That’s absolute bullshit.  Because you’ve been totally indifferent to me for over a month, and let me tell you, it fucking  _ sucks.   _ It would be better if you were mad at me, if we were arguing or yelling at each other or something.  But you’re just ignoring me.  Like I don’t matter to you at all.  And that’s the shittiest feeling in the world.”

Keith stares at Lance blankly.  In ignoring Lance, Keith had only been thinking about himself.  About what he deserved.  He never considered that Lance would mind if they didn’t speak.  He never considered that Lance cared about Keith enough to miss him.  He never considered that he mattered.

“Oh,” is all Keith says.

“I’ve had a crush on you pretty much from the moment we met.  And I thought, on that road trip, that maybe I had gotten somewhere.  That maybe you liked me too.  Or at least that we could be friends.  But then I fucked it up.  Like I always do.  And now you hardly even look at me.

And you know what?  Seeing you on Tuesday, even though you were sick as a dog, that was the best I’ve felt since getting back to school.  But now you’ve gone right back to the indifference.  And it sucks.”

Keith stares at Lance, heart pounding in his chest.  Lance cares about him.  Actually has feelings for him.

And Keith ruined it.

Keith isn’t used to being cared about.  It is an experience so unfamiliar to him that he didn’t even recognize it.  And more importantly, didn’t realize that being cared about carries a responsibility.  Lance cares about him.  Keith, therefore, has the power to hurt him.  But more importantly, he has a duty not to.  And he failed.

“You didn’t fuck it up,” Keith says.  Despite all his anger at himself (and despite the hope beginning to blossom in his chest), it’s very important that Lance knows this.

“Yeah, I clearly did,” Lance says bitterly.

Keith groans and scrubs his hands across his face.

“No, you didn’t fuck it up.  I did.”

Lance looks at him skeptically.  No going back now.

“Look, I’m not good at these sorts of things, okay?  But you didn’t do anything wrong.  You’re great.  You’re, like, the greatest guy I’ve ever met.”

Lance laughs sardonically.

“I’m not kidding,” Keith says, getting frustrated.  “But I really suck this stuff.  Like, feelings or whatever.  And, I don’t know, I got scared.  Because I started to care about you.   So I shut it down as quickly as I could.  And that’s on me, not you.  And I’m sorry.”

Lance looks at him, face unreadable.

“What do you mean you started to care about me?” Lance asks, voice trembling only slightly.

Keith’s never been good with words, so he does the only thing he can think to do.  He takes a few slow steps forward, crossing the small room.  He very gently brings his hand up to rest on the side of Lance’s face.  It trembles slightly as he runs his thumb along Lance’s jaw.  Keith looks into his eyes for a brief moment.

And suddenly they’re kissing.  Just an initial, careful press of their lips together.   Lance’s lips are warm and soft and agonizingly gentle.  He moves his hand up to tangle in Lance’s hair and Lance tilts his head and deepens the kiss, just barely grazing Keith’s lower lip with his tongue.  Keith feels his heart leap into his throat.  He can’t remember anything ever feeling this good.  This  _ right. _

Lance pulls back and regards Keith, eyes soft at the edges.  Keith suddenly feels his cheeks heat up.

“What?” He demands, feeling strangely exposed.

“Your eyes,” Lance replies, almost reverent.

Keith averts his gaze.

“What about them?”

“They’re violet.  You actually have violet eyes.”

“Oh,” Keith mutters.  “Yeah.”

Lance rests his forehead against Keith’s.

“They’re beautiful.” He murmurs.

Keith, in an effort to get Lance to stop saying these ridiculously embarrassing things, kisses him again.  Lance glides one of his hands down to Keith’s waist so gently that Keith has to force himself not to shiver and the sheer pleasure of it.  Lance pulls him even closer, chests flush up against each other.  Keith steps up onto his tiptoes, cursing the few inches Lance has on him.

Lance pulls back again, pressing a gentle kiss to Keith’s forehead.

“So…” He begins, a small crease between his eyes. “Is this like a one-time makeout thing or are we headed somewhere?”

Keith giggles.  He doesn’t know if he’s ever giggled before in his life.

“Definitely headed somewhere.” He replies, smiling.

**Epilogue**

The windows on Lance’s car are rolled down and he pulls out of the student parking lot.  He takes his right hand off the wheel and laces it together with Keith’s.  The iced coffees Keith brought them are sitting in the cupholders.  The May air is warm with a slight breeze.  The music is loud over the stereo.

Keith’s spending the summer with Lance in L.A.  It only took about two months of convincing and cajoling and begging for Keith to believe Lance actually wanted Keith to come home with him.  He finally broke after a phone call from Lance’s mom demanding Keith come visit so she can meet the boy Lance won’t shut up about.  Lance had blushed furiously and Keith had teased him for a week, but it had worked.

Keith pulls their interlaced hands towards him and presses a gentle kiss to the back of Lance’s hand.  They’ve been together for almost four months now, but every kiss still makes his stomach lurch with excitement.

“You wanna switch when we get to Massachusetts?” Lance asks.

“Anything you want is fine with me, babe.”  Keith tells him.

Keith gives his hand a gentle squeeze.  Lance smiles and turns up the music as they turn onto the main road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come holler at me on [Tumblr](https://sparklysuperhero.tumblr.com) if you feel so inclined! Thanks so much for reading! Your kudos and comments mean the world to me!


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